


The Accidental Exorcist

by Aja



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Down and Out Draco, M/M, Ministry of Magic, accidental sex rites, boring ministry jobs, sexorcisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 02:19:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7783033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aja/pseuds/Aja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry’s boring Ministry job yields an unexpected request.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Accidental Exorcist

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blithelybonny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blithelybonny/gifts).



> Thank you to Eddy for the lightning-fast beta-read <3 I haven’t written this pairing in a very long time so please be gentle!

It was nearing noon on one of the hottest days of the summer, and no amount of cooling charms seemed to keep the sweat from pooling in all of Harry’s crevices, ruining all his handkerchiefs and plastering his thick hair to his forehead. It didn’t help that although Kingsley’s office was bright and expansive, Harry’s, which was next door, had been hastily converted from the water closet and was cramped and stuffy—and that was before the piles and piles of paperwork that had rapidly accumulated on his desk.

 _Dear Mrs. Turnbull_ , began the eighth letter he had written that morning. _The Ministry regrets to learn of the loss of your husband, Lionel, in the incident at Brixbane Park on May 22. Mr. Turnbull was a highly prized Auror who was invaluable to his team both during and after the war against Voldemort. At the time of his death he was arresting a group of notorious Death Eaters who had eluded our forces for months. Because of his heroism and bravery the post-war effort has_

Harry’s pen had been jerking impatiently for the last few minutes, waiting for him to write more. Harry flicked it across the desk in frustration. He wrote far too many of these letters a day and he still didn’t know how to finish this part—how to reassure dead widows and mothers their husbands and sons hadn’t died in vain. Everyone wanted to believe the war was over, but if anything, the tension between the members of the Order of the Phoenix and the general public seemed to have only increased. Now that no authoritarian dark lord was threatening to stamp out disagreement, disagreement had risen tenfold. Just last week the ongoing political dispute over whether to issue reparations to Voldemort’s Muggle victims had resulted in death threats being sent to the whole office. Meanwhile reports of continuing skirmishes between pureblood families and muggle-borns were on the continual increase. And, of course, Aurors kept dying.

He stood and went to the tiny window, which currently showed an icy, barren field of snow; the maintenance department was doing its best to distract everyone from the heat by reminding them of sparkling winter wonderlands, but mostly the grey just made Harry feel even more claustrophobic and overheated. 

None of it was Harry’s responsibility to stop, not anymore; his efforts to join the Aurors and continue tracking down dark wizards had quickly met with resistance from most of the department: he was too young to immediately hire into a position of leadership but too well-trained in all the advanced forms of spellwork needed for law enforcement to place into the department’s mandatory training program. In either case, he’d been informed, none of the Aurors would trust him, most would resent him, and everyone would be embarrassed. 

And so he had been funnelled into the solution Kingsley had offered him instead: serve as the Auror’s Ministry liaison for a few years. Functionally, he’d be Kingsley’s right-hand man, serving in a public-facing role fit for the Boy Who Lived; but he’d still be able to go on special assignment with the Aurors as needed.

Initially, Harry had agreed; but the Aurors’ “special assignments” had yet to land on his desk, and functionally, Kingsley seemed relieved to hand off all the vital but soul-sucking tasks to Harry: meeting with the Ministry’s security detail, getting reports from the Head Auror, sending letters to the families of the dead—all of it dreadfully important, and so ineffectual in the fight happening outside that Harry perpetually wanted to resign. Only Hermione’s firm voice in his head, reminding him that the world was looking to him to see unity and order in the new government, kept him in his place—at heel, he thought bitterly.

He was lost in his thoughts when a knock startled him, and he turned and found Draco Malfoy standing in the doorway, his back stiff as a broom handle and his hands resting too still at his sides. Harry had seen Malfoy often since the battle of Hogwarts. He’d testified at the Malfoy trials and had returned Draco’s wand after they were over. Malfoy had frequented the Ministry during the period that followed; between his Wizengamot probation officer and the inquiries of the Auror division, the Ministry seemed to have constant need for summoning Draco during his father’s house arrest. And then there were the numerous seizures and forfeitures the Ministry had demanded, most of which Harry had been responsible for overseeing as part of the proposed Muggle reparation fund, not to mention the various surveillances the Aurors currently had Malfoy Manor under. Each time he’d seen Draco, he had looked gaunter than the last, paler and pointier; more tight-lipped and silent as a Dementor’s icy stare. 

Now, however, in robes of cobalt blue that swallowed his thin frame, dark whorls under his eyes that spoke of long sleepless nights, and a hint of day-old fuzz on his typically smooth chin, he looked strangely smudged at the edges, more barely-there than ever. A shudder went through Harry at the look of him, and he thought about the cost of the war, of the friends and enemies they’d lost, and how the oppressive mood of the manor during Voldemort’s house stay still seemed to linger in the rigid set of Malfoy’s shoulders. He thought of the scar that he knew still ran straight and clean as a scissor cut over Malfoy’s smooth torso. 

He thought of all these things in the space of a single heartbeat—as much time as it took him to say, as neutrally as possible, “Malfoy?” And still he felt exposed when his eyes met Malfoy’s hollow grey ones. 

Malfoy said nothing, but his chin lifted, and in a single furtive glance he took in the size and the shabbiness of Harry’s office before glancing back at Harry. Somehow that single gesture put Harry’s guard up, made him feel as though he’d been properly seen through—as though Malfoy had seen immediately what Harry had been trying desperately to conceal for months: that he was bored out of his skull and had no idea what he was doing.

“I’m surprised they let you past the security desk,” he said shortly, in retaliation for the way Malfoy just showing up apparently could still put him on edge. Then, wincing at how petty he sounded, he added, “Kingsley’s detail is a bit over-sensitive these days.”

Malfoy shrugged. “They’re fighting a war,” he said. He sounded tired. “You can’t quite blame them.”

“Didn’t you hear?” Harry replied, gesturing to Malfoy to take a seat in the only other rickety chair wedged in the corner of the small room. “The war is over. All these skirmishes are just...”

“...Isolated incidents,” Malfoy finished for him. They looked at each other.

“I was sent here by the entities department,” Malfoy said. He said it calmly, with his chin still lifted, but the flatness in his voice was unmistakable. Harry wondered how long he’d held out before coming here.

“The entities department,” Harry echoed. “Sent you to me.”

“There’s a poltergeist in my house,” Malfoy said, “and since the Ministry placed the manor under spell-veillance and weakened all the protective wards, I can’t do any spellwork to either get rid of it or restore the damage it’s causing.”

“A poltergeist? Where’d it come from?”

Malfoy shrugged. “Turned up after the trials. I’ve tried everything allowed under the new warding, but it won’t go away.”

“What’s that got to do with me?” Harry asked. “I don’t know the first thing about banishing ghosts. You’d probably want to talk to Hermione—”

“Not a ghost, Potter, a _poltergeist_ ,” Malfoy said wearily. “It’s tied to someone or something in the house. And since I’m more or less the only person there, it’s probably me.” He sounded resigned to the fact.

“Oh,” Harry said. “What’s that got to do with me?”

“I wrote to the MAC,” Malfoy said. “They referred me to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, so I spoke to them but they referred me back to the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, which referred me to the Auror Division of Entities, which had to confer with my probation officer to reassure themselves that I wasn’t trying anything shady before sending me to the Minister’s auror liaison.” He paused, then added, “That’s you,” in annoyance, when Harry still stared at him uncomprehendingly. “You’re the one who signed the paperwork approving the weakening of the wards.”

“Wait,” Harry said. “But I signed an order for complete ward removal.”

“So you remember.” 

“But... your father... that was six months ago,” Harry said. He vaguely remembered signing the order to remove the Malfoy Manor wards of protection and lay down the blanket of new spell prohibition wards in their stead, in order to allow the Aurors to monitor Lucius Malfoy while he was on house arrest prior to his execution. But that had been nine months ago; the manor should have been re-warded in a weakened but functional state after Draco’s father was executed. “It was supposed to be temporary,” he said blankly. 

Malfoy shrugged again, elegantly, as though he didn’t care that he had been living in a completely unprotected house for months, vulnerable to anyone who might have felt like eking a little revenge on the ex-Death Eater in the neighborhood. And that Harry was responsible. 

Harry winced. For half of that time Draco hadn’t even had his proper wand, since Harry had been waiting for the trial to end to approach him with it; doing even the most basic spells within the Manor grounds would have been like trying to use a wand underwater. The ministry had effectively turned Malfoy and his mother into Squibs while they were in the manor. No wonder his mother had been living with Zabini’s family in Italy all year. Harry wondered why Malfoy had stayed.

“They should have lifted all but the most advanced layer of spell-veilance last August,” Harry said. “You didn’t tell your probation officer? Or get your lawyers involved?”

“A Malfoy would never expect his lawyers to work pro bono while the estate is under the Ministry’s control, Potter,” Malfoy said, in a voice so haughty it took Harry a moment to understand what Malfoy was really confessing. “I’ve an apprenticeship at Cinderblocks, but it hardly pays the Ministry’s fines, much less... well. My letters to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement have gone unanswered. So you see, Potter, I need. Your. Help.”

“I wish you’d said something earlier,” said Harry.

“Why, Harry Potter, do you suddenly care?” said Malfoy, shifting forward in his chair and cocking to one side, suddenly back to his pointy, sharp-eyed self. Harry, stung by the truth of it, found that he did care—not about the manor, which could have fallen to rubble and taken all the Malfoy’s wealth and crumbling estate along with it for all it mattered to him. But the idea of Draco deflating in that old house, unprotected and forgotten by the people he’d ultimately trusted... by Harry himself... 

He felt himself reddening. “Look,” he said, grabbing a blank sheet of parchment and hastily scribbling an order on it for the Wizengamot. “This should be enough. Just take this to Level 2. It’s an order from the Minister’s office to have the wards lifted within seven days.”

He handed it over to Malfoy, who stared at it warily.

“So after all this time, it’s just that easy,” he said. “I spent months going through the proper channels when all along I could have simply asked the savior of the wizarding world to write two lines on a scrap of parchment.” 

Harry scowled and ran his hand through his hair, which was still sweaty and sticky and clumping to his forehead in thick patches. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said. 

“Why be sorry?” Malfoy said airily. “If this is how the Ministry runs things now, I suppose I’ll just have to get used to owing you several favors, won’t I?” He sent Harry a tight, sardonic smile.

“Oh, for god’s sake,” Harry said, fighting not to roll his eyes. “This isn’t about me having some sort of special privileges, Draco, it’s about several dozen people not doing their bloody jobs. You don’t owe me anything for this.”

Malfoy arched an eyebrow. “Don’t I?” he said, and his voice dropped a level. “I don’t offer favors lightly, you know. And I’m very prompt about repaying my debts.”

Harry swallowed. By the dingy midday candlelight of the tiny office, the circles under Malfoy’s eyes were striking. 

“You said it was a poltergeist, not a ghost,” he said. “It just showed up, after the war?”

Malfoy’s nostrils flared ever so slightly. “Apparently so. Annoying pestilence.” He glanced down at his fingernails and then over Harry’s shoulder with a bored expression. But Harry knew Draco’s expressions well enough by now to know when he’d struck paydirt. 

“You know they’re attracted to intense feelings of guilt and sadness,” Harry continued. “And like you said, you’re the only one living in the Manor.”

“Your point, Potter?” Malfoy snapped, but Harry was on to him, and he didn’t sound angry so much as exasperated.

“My point, _Draco_ , is that you’ve already paid enough,” Harry said. “Take this and go fix your house.”

Malfoy snorted. “Touching speech, _Harry_ , but you will let me pay you back for this.”

“Oh, for the love of—look, Malfoy, if it’s that big a deal, why don’t you just, I don’t know, buy me a drink or something?”

Malfoy’s eyes widened, then sharpened again. “A drink,” he repeated, straightening in his chair.

Harry shrugged. “Why not? Unless you need to go right home and purge your poltergeist.” He knew his voice was rising, that he was turning his invitation into a challenge, but couldn’t quite help his satisfaction at seeing Malfoy’s cheeks redden. If he’d known that just being _friendly_ to Malfoy would fluster him so much he’d’ve done it months ago; it had been ages since he’d been able to feel the level of animosity towards him he had felt when they were in school, for all Malfoy could still get under his skin like no one else.

Perhaps this day wouldn’t turn out to be such a bore after all.

“No, not at all,” Malfoy said, standing and primly straightening his robes. “I’ve waited six months; I suppose I can put my schedule on hold for the time being. I’m sure you’re used to that by now.”

Harry thought Malfoy was doing his best to sound haughty, but his lips twitched, and Harry couldn’t resist smiling back.

Besides, the looks Harry got when he cried off work at half-past noon with Malfoy at his side were totally worth it.

____

Three rounds of firewhisky and several hours and shared Ministry rants later, Malfoy swiveled around, slid off the bar stool, and swayed pleasantly into Harry’s side.

“Well, come along, then, Potter, I’m not going to shag you in the pig sty this place undoubtedly passes for a loo.”

Harry nearly fell off his stool. “What?” 

Draco stared at him, unimpressed. “Oh, sorry, was that not what we’re doing? You truly just wanted to, what, catch up on old times at the pub?”

“Right,” said Harry. “No, sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking. Right. A drink. Right.”

“Potter, you realize your mouth could be better employed right now than making excuses,” Malfoy said smoothly, and his tone made all Harry’s overheated blood simmer and fizz from alcohol and a sudden rush of desire. 

He grabbed Malfoy’s elbow and tugged him in close. Malfoy looked faintly amused, but he came willingly, letting his thighs bump against Harry’s knees where he still sat on the stool. His typically sardonic expression was blunted a little, either by Harry’s inebriated state or the fondness he thought he could read in Malfoy’s face. He wondered how it had come to this—two sworn enemies exchanging verbal foreplay on the way to bed. 

“So this isn’t just about owing me anymore,” Harry murmured, just to be sure. Malfoy tilted his head, his eyes darkening and his gorgeous mouth going lopsided. Harry wondered how he’d never realized this before; how attracted he was and how easy it felt, doing this, just like this. 

“This is about wanting you since the first time I saw you on a broom,” Malfoy said. He reached up, telegraphing his movements, and slid his hand over Harry’s neck, thumbing the pulse point at Harry’s jaw line. “What’s it about for you?”

Harry’s eyes fluttered shut. _God._ “Uh,” he managed. “Curiosity, mostly.” 

“About... men?”

Harry opened his eyes. “No,” he admitted. “I’ve... a few times. I meant about... you. Me. What it would be like.” 

Draco did smile then, a full-fledged grin that showed all his teeth. “I can work with that,” he said.

“Good.” Harry leaned in. Draco stopped him.

“I don’t think you’re ready to go around kissing former Death Eaters in public, Potter,” he said. Harry scoffed and tried again. “I mean it,” Draco said quietly. This time he pulled his hand away and took a step back. “Don’t be a fool. We both know there was a reason I got the runaround from everyone in the Auror division for months. You’d get fired from your luxurious job the moment anyone saw us, and I’d have no one I could effectively bribe in the Ministry at all. Mine or yours?”

“Yours,” Harry said, not relishing the thought of Draco Malfoy lording it over Harry in his too-small apartment for their first time. He’d been thinking of moving into a larger flat, anyway; maybe he’d make the switch before Malfoy ever had to know Harry had been living in a—christ, Harry thought. They hadn’t even really touched yet and he was already thinking of round two. 

“Your place, Draco,” he said again. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

They Apparated directly into Draco’s bedroom, which Harry had always fancied would be decked out in Slytherin green and gothic candelabras. His mental picture was nothing like the light greys and creams of the walls and upholstering or the way Malfoy had casually arranged antique chifferobes and writing desks next to modern sofas and loveseats—all of which Harry took in at a glance before Draco was shoving him up against the nearest armoire and kissing him. 

He tasted like firewhisky, the red-hot taste of cinnamon and cayenne pepper still lingering on his lips, and Harry heard him let out a sigh of what could have been sheer relief as their lips met. Harry dragged his tongue over Draco’s and felt the sigh deepen into a moan as Draco pressed against him. Harry was already half-hard just from the brief moment of contact; he shifted and slipped his hands under Draco’s robes to drag him closer, and suddenly their hips were aligned, and Harry stuttered out a gasp as Draco pressed his erection against Harry’s thigh and ground against him.

“Oh, god.” Harry suddenly couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. He broke away from Draco’s mouth long enough to breathe before Draco pulled him back in again, deepening the kiss and thumbing open Harry’s robes. Draco’s own fell to the floor, and Harry was never sure which of them put them there, but it was a good development because now he had access to Draco in his ridiculous starched blazer and tailored pants. 

He wound his arms around Draco’s waist and spread his palm over the curve of Draco’s ass. Draco let out a guttural noise and arched against his touch, and Harry felt drunk all over again. Earlier he’d thought Draco was gaunter and skinnier than ever under his billowing robes, but his body still felt firm and powerful beneath Harry’s touch. Harry slid his mouth down over the hollow of Draco’s throat and felt Draco’s answering tremble beneath his lips. He felt rather than heard Draco murmur the words of a spell, and suddenly their clothes were sliding off of each of them with a whisper of cotton and silk. 

“Jesus, Draco, where did you learn _that_?”

“Stick around and I just might tell you,” Draco answered. Already his voice was hoarse. Harry pulled him back in for another kiss, unable to resist giving the smooth curve of Draco’s ass another grope. He was fully erect now, and Draco’s cock was hard and hot against his own, dusky red tip crowning his foreskin. Harry’s few fumblings with other men had left him mostly ambivalent about this part of the proceedings—it was usually messy and ill-timed and awkward; but Draco was making pleasant little gasps each time he rocked forward, like all he wanted was just to be allowed to rub one off against Harry’s thigh, and Harry loved the way he felt, couldn’t get enough of the way Draco tasted beneath him, like silk and sweat and jasmine—leave it to Malfoy to bathe in floofy soaps, he thought with a rush of warmth—and the tangy metallic aftertaste of magic hovering all over his skin like a glimmering skein only Harry could see. 

Harry didn’t know what he wanted most; he wanted more of everything—more kissing, more fondling, more _Draco_.

“Harry,” Draco said, sounding utterly wrecked. “If you don’t put me on that bed and make me come I’m going to tell everyone we know you’ve been having it on with all the Weasleys at once.”

Harry laughed, or tried to—it wedged in his throat and all he could think about was making Draco come, and _oh, god, yes._ He hefted Draco up by his legs and hoisted him like that over onto the giant bed. Draco fell back against the silk sheets and immediately stretched out, wanton and gorgeous, stupidly blond hair fanning across his expensive pillows. His cock curved up like an arrow towards the slope of his pale chest, and Harry couldn’t wait any longer. He knelt across the bed, dropped a sloppy kiss on Draco’s mouth, and then took Draco’s cock in his mouth. 

Draco’s fist clenched in Harry’s hair, and Harry could feel him straining not to arch up. “Oh, fuck, _fuck_ ,” he hissed. “ _Harry_.” Harry swiped his tongue around the underside of Draco’s erection, trailing the dark vein up to the bulbous head and grinning around Draco’s cock when Draco made a noise like a strangled yelp and sank down even further into the bedclothes. Harry hummed and sent a frisson of wandless magic—no more than a shimmer of energy, all he could manage to focus on—vibrating up over Draco’s shaft. This time Draco really did arch up, knees buckling and mouth falling open beautifully as he came, rocking up into Harry’s waiting mouth. The sensory overload, the feel of Draco in him and around him, brought Harry over the edge, and he came right after Malfoy did, neither of them bothering to hide the noise they made.

Draco came back to earth first, cock still throbbing and his wan stomach heaving like a yo-yo; he tugged Harry up gently by his hair, wrapping him up in a messy kiss. “You’re amazing,” Harry babbled when he found himself able to talk again. “Brilliant.”

“Flattery will get you all the way,” Draco responded, voice rich with lazy arousal.

“I’m going to fuck you so many different ways before you leave this bed,” Harry told him, and incredibly Draco blushed adorably. 

“Just don’t forget about the—” he stopped in mid-sentence and sat up, looking around the room. 

“What?” 

“Shh,” Draco said, checking the crannies and corners even as he idly ran his fingers through Harry’s hair. “Potter,” he said. “I think it’s gone.”

“What’s gone?” Harry leaned up and began kissing his way across Draco’s shoulders. 

“The poltergeist, Potter, do keep up.”

“I’m still going to call you Draco after we’ve had sex,” Harry said muzzily. Then he caught up. “What, really? You mean—”

“I don’t believe this,” Draco said blankly. 

“You mean,” said Harry, “having sex with me was enough to rid you of your demons.” He tugged Draco back down into the sheets and kissed him soundly. 

“I don’t know,” Draco said, looking arch, when they finally broke apart. “I feel like I’m still tormented. You know. Deep down.”

“Do you, now.” Harry grinned broadly. 

“Now that we have the prescription I might require repeated dosage just to make sure I’m properly cleansed,” Draco said. 

“Oh, don’t you worry,” Harry said, climbing on top. “I’ll give you as many exorcisms as you need.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love ♥ You can also leave one on [Livejournal](http://hd-tropes.livejournal.com/38871.html).
> 
> Follow the [Harry/Draco Tropes Exchange](http://hd-tropes.livejournal.com/) for more fic and art. All creators will be revealed on Aug 29.


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